


tangere

by weird_bird (2weird4)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10203776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2weird4/pseuds/weird_bird
Summary: “Well. You’re on your own now, shrimpy. Bye!” Before Damian can quite react, Brown’s fleeing down the hall, slamming the door shut behind herself.a very silly fic that's not quite what it seems.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688436) by [lacemonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster). 



> if you're at all familiar with common fandom tropes, i think you'll get what i'm parodying, but i _promise_ it's not going to go there. 
> 
> _tangere_ = 'to touch' in latin.

“You can’t go in there.” Brown stands akimbo in Grayson’s doorway.

Damian stops short. “What are you, his harem guard?” More than a little irritated, he tries to peek past her. 

He wouldn’t care (he wouldn’t), but only, it’s _Fatgirl,_ and also Grayson insisted they should spend the day together yesterday, and he’ll never hear the end of it if they don’t.

Also, he got him a dumb present. It's a cat plushie pressed on him by the grateful owner after they'd prevented her little shop from being destroyed by Toymaster. It's stupid-looking, and just so happens to be in Nightwing colors. Damian figures he might as well foist it off on him.

Snorting, she shakes her head. “It’s only--” She deliberates. “He’s...sick.”

“Sick?” Sudden worry curdles Damian’s stomach. “Summer flu?” he demands. “Poisoned?”

Brown tilts her hand from side to side. 

“What does that mean?” When he pokes his head inside again, she tries to push him back out. With a snarl, he wrestles her back and marches inside.

Ensconced in pillows and blankets, Grayson rolls to face him. His cheeks are pink, eyes big and black. “Damian, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Well. You’re on your own now, shrimpy. Bye!” Before Damian can quite react, Brown’s fleeing down the hall, slamming the door shut behind herself.

“Sorry,” Grayson mumbles. And then he’s pulling Damian into bed.

“Grayson--what--stop!” Panicked, Damian claws at the sheets, but Grayson’s arms are wrapping around him, pulling him back into his chest, hot as a furnace.

The plushie squeaks.

“I’m so sorry, Damian,” he breathes again. He crushes his nose to his nape and squeezes him tight enough that Damian _oofs_ in protest.

“What happened to you?” Damian struggles against the arm around his waist.

“Ivy,” Grayson confesses, “some pollen stuff, I don’t know…”

He tenses, then goes limp. “There’s no escaping this, is there.”

Against his neck, Grayson grimaces. “I--I don’t think so.”

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Damian decides to make the best of it.

 

 

The next time they meet, Grayson won’t even look him in the face.

“You’re being an idiot,” he snaps at him at last. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Grayson’s eyes dart back and forth, still not meeting Damian’s.

“We’re alone,” he says slowly. Hopping up, he perches on the hood of the Batmobile, narrowing his eyes at him. 

Fiddling with the cat plushie, Grayson blurts, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Damian assures him, which is something he does seldom, so really, he should be _grateful._

He’s not grateful. “I should have had more self-control.” Grayson looks downright morose. It doesn’t suit him at all.

Damian huffs, eyes rolling towards the vanishing black above. “You were drugged, more or less. Your inhibitions were lowered.” 

Grayson hesitates. “Do you think that’s the only reason I did it?”

He’s not quite sure how to answer that. “No,” he admits.

“Oh god.” Grayson buries his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Damian,” he moans for the hundredth time.

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Grayson,” Damian spits in exasperation. “It’s--it’s _fine._ ”

“Fine?” Bewildered, he peeks through his fingers at him. “How could it be fine? I...I made you.”

“No one can make me do anything.” Lifting his chin proudly, he stares him dead in the eye--is only brave enough to for a second. “I--” He gulps. “I wanted to.”

Grayson’s eyes go puddle-round. “You didn’t know,” he points out.

“I would have gone in,” Damian admits, though it pains him, “even if I knew.”

His smile splits his face in half. “Really?” 

Damian crosses his arms. He’s already given him enough ammunition.

Not enough, apparently, for Grayson. Not looking away from him, beam turning up the brightness by the second, he sets down the cat plushie in his lap. Shifts in his seat significantly. “Do you wanna do it again?” he asks, hushed.

This time, Damian’s eyes widen. He feels his face stain red all the way to the tips of his ears. “N-now?”

“I mean, no one’s here, right?” Tentative and hopeful.

Centimeter by centimeter, Damian slides off the hood. 

He’s still not too certain about this, but he can’t help himself. He was being honest. He did want it.

“That’s it,” Grayson murmurs.

“Shut _up._ ” Damian digs his face into Grayson’s chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt and huffing into his chest. “I hate you.”

“Oh yeah?” Grayson--there’s no better word for it, damnably-- _nuzzles_ his hair with a little happy sound in his throat. 

“Can you at least not be so…”

“So what?”

“So _you_ about this?”

“Hey, I’m the only person I can be.” Grayson jiggles him slightly on his lap with a knee. “You, on the other hand...you sure you haven’t been dosed with some c--”

“We’re not calling it that.”

“Cu--”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Brown came up with the name,” he says with a derisive crinkle of his nose.

“It’s a good name.”

“It is _not._ ”

Grayson eyes him with amusement that only fuels his aggravation. “Then what would you suggest?”

So he doesn’t have to see his face--and that’s the only reason--Damian burrows down into him again, letting out a soft breath. “Tactile toxin,” he suggests.

“Ooh, alliteration,” Grayson muses. Ever enamored by obnoxious wordplay as he is. Damian thought he would like it. “But...nah.” Gathering him in even closer, Grayson _snuggles_ Damian.

Worst of all: Damian does not resist.

“We’re calling it cuddle pollen.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the second lacemonster-inspired cat-themed crack fic i'm writing...wild


End file.
